Struan's POV

As Tusk, Voldemort's feared commander, raised his wand to an ornate wooden box, a sense of dread settled in Struan's heart. He watched in horror as a dark, winged creature materialized from the box. Tusk had released the dark entity known to corrupt the very essence of its victim, turning light into suffocating darkness. Struan's father revered this creature, calling it a purifier of souls. But Struan knew the truth—it was a weapon, a means to twist and malign the purest of beings into creatures of shadow. His father had used it to corrupt beings of light, turning them into agents of darkness.

The creature let out a shrill howl as it soared toward Senna, who was lunging at his father with the light sword. Its shadowy wings cast an eerie glow over the arena.

Struan's breath caught in his throat as the creature descended upon his sister.

Time seemed to slow as the creature enveloped Senna in its inky embrace. The spectators erupted into gasps and cries, their voices merging into a cacophony of fear and disbelief.

But then, something unexpected happened. Instead of succumbing to the darkness, Senna fell unconscious, her form untouched by the malevolent creature.

The creature had passed right through her. He knew that something had gone wrong. The creature hadn't taken hold of her as it should have.

The creature let out a piercing shriek as if in agony before dissipating into thin air.

Struan's mind reeled with confusion and disbelief. How had Senna managed to thwart the dark magic that had consumed so many others? What was it about Senna that had caused such a powerful dark magic to fail? His mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. Senna's previous words echoed in his mind: she had died seven times and returned each time. Could it be that her repeated confrontations with Death had imbued her with a resilience unknown even to the darkest of magics? Was it the sword of light?

As Voldemort's voice echoed through the arena, commanding an abrupt halt, Struan's attention was tied to the space where the shadowy creature had dissipated into nothing.

Now, as he moved his gaze to the cold, stony floor of the arena, his heart sank. His sister, Senna, lay motionless, her face serene yet pale under the harsh afternoon light.

There was no sign of corruption, no darkening of her soul. Instead, it seemed as if she were peacefully sleeping.

As Voldemort stepped forward, his snake-like features contorted in a grimace of frustration, his thoughts were interrupted. The Dark Lord's bright red eyes scanned the arena, his gaze finally resting on Senna with both shock and malice.

"What is the meaning of this? You said the creature can overtake even the strongest of souls!" Voldemort yelled.

The arena echoed with the screams and shouts that hung thick in the air. The Dark Lord's crimson eyes bore into Tusk, the Dark Lord's impatience evident in the twitch of his pale, snake-like features. The arena seemed to pulse with an unsettling energy as Tusk struggled to find the right words.

Tusk, beads of sweat forming on his furrowed brow, stammered under the scrutiny of his master. "My Lord… it's not that her soul is too strong," he began, his voice trembling. He hesitated before continuing, "It's that… she is too pure."

The Dark Lord's lip curled into a disdainful sneer. "Pure?" he scoffed, the word dripping from his lips like venom. His cold, calculating gaze intensified, demanding an explanation for this unforeseen complication.

Now visibly nervous, he cast his eyes downward. "She has never killed, never harmed," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "My lord."

Voldemort's patience wore thin, and he demanded, "Explain!"

The air seemed to thicken as Tusk struggled to articulate the inexplicable. "It's not like the others, my Lord," he stammered. "I've seen this creature overtake those who are so-called pure-of-heart, but she… she is pure love. Pure good."

The Dark Lord's frustration grew palpable. He closed the distance between himself and Senna's unconscious form. His wand poised menacingly above her. "Like a newborn baby," he mused darkly, his tone dripping with contempt. "And just like a newborn, you will start over again, relearn the things your teachers have failed to teach you."

He circled Senna with predatory grace, his wand tracing invisible patterns in the air. "The only purity that matters is the purity of blood and mind," Voldemort declared, his voice resonating through the arena. A malevolent smile played across his lips as he waved his wand in a fluid motion. "You are to forget everything and everyone, as this is holding you back. My daughter, this is your rebirth."

The arena seemed to shudder as the dark magic took hold, erasing memories and shaping the destiny of the young woman lying unconscious before him...

Authors Note

Thank you for completing the story "The Gray Witch". I appreciate your time and support. The sequel, "The Dark Witch", has already started, and Chapter 1 is now available. I hope you enjoy the continuation of the story!